Challenge
by bs13
Summary: "I know who you are, Jerome Clarke," she whispers, shuddering slightly. "And...I'm sorry to have killed you."/(Almost) Jara drabble and a contest to enter!
1. Contest

I've read lots of House of Anubis fanfiction. A whole lot. But I have yet to find a good horror story, and Celeste (Florairmatylee) suggested I post this because I've been thinking about holding a contest like this and I really want to read a good horror story.

**Contest rules:**

1. Has to be a horror story. By that, it means it has to be scary. Scary can entail many things, but it should be something that really scares you and can bring chills to a reader. Like, the type of story that won't let me sleep at night because I'm so freaked out.

2. Can be either a story or oneshot (but if it's a story, fifteen chapters max).

3. Can include only friendship, but I would love shipping in it too!

4. Make an awesome title/summary.

5. Please make the story either third person or in just one person's point of view the whole story; I would prefer it if there wasn't constant switching from POV to POV.

4. No OCs. OC stands for original character.

5. A character being OOC doesn't bother me, but please keep the characters realistic.

6. Rating doesn't matter, but it shouldn't be rated K; it's a horror story, after all. If you feel your story is so scary and way too mature for a certain group of readers, please rate it accordingly.

**Prizes:**

First place- a story/oneshot will be written for you of whatever you want, you can co-write a story with me (but that would probably not be ideal for you), or I will read/review/favorite ALL your stories in which I am a part of the fandom.

Second place- a story of my choosing to be dedicated to you in which you only pick the ships or I will read/review/favorite one to three stories of yours that you want me to.

Third place- I will read/review/favorite one of your stories.

**Deadline:**

August 1, 2014. I know that's only about less than two months, but while I'd love to give a longer date, it's better to make the date sometime in the near future.

Please, please, please enter! I really want to see some horror stories here in this archive and I want the other writers here to challenge themselves with this! I will be making a story on the side as a horror story too. Also, every entry I get I will follow and review every chapter to, no matter what, if that is some inspiration!

Also, for each entry, put "for bs13's horror contest" in the summary. Thanks!

* * *

**Okay I posted this earlier but the site's admin found it and deleted it (I have to be more careful sometimes), so for the sake of it not getting deleted, here is a quick disfunctional sorta Jara AU that is kind of like an example for this contest because I have to hurt myself like that.**

Jerome watches her.

She is quiet. Too quiet for her own good, it seems. She is relatively unmoved by the fact that she is tied to a chair, and she does not look up from her slumped position as he slowly moves to stand beside her. Gently, he reaches out a grips her chin, forcing her face upwards.

Mick has certainly done his work well. The girl's face is the very image of torture; her eye has been bruised so bad it is nearly shut, her nose leaks blood with no motion to stop, and her lip is so badly split it looks as though it might just tear in two.

"Do you want to talk?" Jerome asks.

The girl still only faces him because her chin is in his grasp. She doesn't spit something angrily at his face. She doesn't even cry. The only thing Jerome hears is a small whimper from the back of her throat that indicates she wants to go back to being quiet and hidden.

Jerome reaches for his knife, placing the cold, silver tip of it at the edge of her lips. The girl flinches noticeably, but Jerome does not ask her again; instead, he digs the knife in. A drop of blood bubbles to the surface of her skin, and slowly begins to trickle a steady stream as he drags the knife down, carving a line down her chin.

"Tell me," Jerome says.

The girl's eyes are barely open, but Jerome can see the tears quivering in them. Still, she does not speak. Now she does not even whimper. She does, however, begin to shake in fear.

Good. She should be afraid.

Jerome's knife goes to her neck. He lazily drags the sharp edge of it down the sensitive skin, and he is rewarded by the thin line of blood that immediately follows. Gripping the knife harder, he pulls away from her neck and raises it in a fisted, harsh position that indicates he will drive the knife in hard of she does not speak.

"Talk," he prompts.

She does not.

He could kill her. He honestly could. But right now, he needs her to talk first, and then he can kill her. So he resolves to slowly lowering the knife, and then grasping it less tightly, and then he strikes forward in one fluid motion and stabs the area of skin right above her collarbone.

She gasps, reigning in what must be pain. Jerome drags the tip of the knife downwards, further inflicting pain before he then jerks it out slowly and painfully. Droplets of blood trail down her blouse and stain the mass of already somewhat-stained white cotton.

"You'd better start talking," he warns, now fed up.

She stares at him on her own accord now, brown eyes watery and mouth clenched in pain, but with an air of pride that she will not relinquish. That is when Jerome realizes that this girl is not only not going to talk to him, but she is also merely awaiting her death.

Carefully, Jerome presses the blade of the knife against her forehead. This girl breathes in sharply, but otherwise, she makes no sound. Concentrating, Jerome slowly takes the knife and positions it against her brow, scraping the edge against the sensitive skin. The blood bubbles over her skin immediately, but she doesn't flinch. Gritting his teeth, Jerome sinks the blade in deeper.

She winces slightly, but that's it.

Jerome frowns. She's going to be hard to break, playing this the way she is. Well, he can play too. He draws the knife away, giving the blood free reign to drip down her forehead and onto her eyelashes. Releasing her jaw, the girl tucks her head back down right away.

"Mara is your name, right?"

She stares downward, her breathing slowly becoming irregular. Jerome smirks as he wipes the blade of the knife with his fingertips, staining his skin with her blood. It's even still warm on his hands as he reaches out and grips Mara's jaw once more, forcing her to look into his eyes, and smirking when he sees the fear outlined in those pretty brown eyes of hers.

"I know everything about you, Mara Jaffray," whispers Jerome as he gazes at her. "Listen to me here, alright? I've got a job to keep. You've got a life to keep. So let's make this simple: you talk, and I won't harm you."

Mara grits her teeth now, but Jerome can see the blood oozing against the white of her mouth and he does not find it threatening. Quietly, the girl swallows just once before she coolly says, "Go ahead and kill me. You'll never get me to talk."

Jerome's grip gets tighter on her jaw, and he finally shakes his head and drops the knife in his hand. He does, however, keep his hand on her jaw, which he forces around so she can look about the room.

"You've dug your grave, then so be it," Jerome says. "But I'm not going to let you lie in it just yet. You see, Jaffray, I'm a man of my word. And when I say I'm going to get someone to talk"- here, he digs his fingers tightly into Mara's skin- "I am going to get whoever it is to talk."

"You'll never-"

But she is cut off when he silences her with his lips. She tastes of blood, and he feels her flinch as he aggressively attacks her split lip, but then all of a sudden, she's kissing him back, matching his aggressiveness, never relenting her kiss.

Then Jerome feels the pain that erupts all at once. The knife he once held is now being yanked out of the flesh of his stomach, and as he staggers backwards, pressing a desperate hand to a mass of blood, he sees the cool, almost horrified look of Mara Jaffray.

"I know who you are, Jerome Clarke," she whispers, shuddering slightly. "And...I'm sorry to have killed you. I know you're only doing this for money, and I know you've never liked this life, but as you said, you have dug your grave."

Jerome chuckles dangerously. "So you're not who I think you are."

"I never was." And despite the bloody, bruised face she has, Mara Jaffray gazes down at him with the air of a queen, not someone who has been tortured. She takes the knife and cuts the bonds that hold her to the chair, and she stands up shakily, staring down at Jerome. "I _am_ sorry, you know," she adds.

Jerome feels bile coming up his throat at the intense pain that racks his body. "Liar," he says smoothly, and while he feels like he's about to be sick, he just looks up at her and keeps a smirk on his face.

"I mean it. I feel like I would've liked you," muses Mara, but then she turns and leaves without so much of a goodbye, never even pausing to glance back at the young man dying behind her.

"Believe me, Jaffray, the feeling is mutual," calls Jerome, and he slumps down on the floor, watching as his blood drips onto the cold gray floor. Sighing, he closes his eyes. Well, as Mara has said, he's dug his grave.

Might as well lie in it.


	2. Deadline extension

**UPDATE: I extended the deadline! (ignore the following drabble and just skip to the bolded part if you want, because this drabble is useless, plotless junk and is just here so this won't get deleted)**

It's dark.

It's cold.

It's late.

Jerome Clarke checks his watch once more when he realizes each aspect of the darkening night. It's already ten. She's two hours late. Still, he leans forward, blowing on his cold hands and looking around the park and still searching for her. It really isn't like her to be late. Or not answer his calls. Or not text him an apology at least twice a minute.

The cold winter air blows harder, and he rubs his hands together and keeps waiting. Had it been for anyone else, he would not be there, but this is for Mara Jaffray. He _has_ to be here. He's promised her that much.

His phone rings. It must be her. He checks the caller ID; it is.

"Hey," he says, smiling at the thought of her voice. He's expecting a flurry of apologies to come from the end, but the other line is silent. "Um," he prompts, "Mara?"

The other line begins to buzz, and slowly, a breathy voice begins to speak.

"You...go...and...return," comes the raspy whisper.

Jerome grips the phone tightly, unsure of this, and he lets out a barely nervous laugh. Barely, because Jerome Clarke doesn't get scared. "Jaffray if this is some way to freak me out, it's working. Now can you just tell me why you're so late?" he asks.

"_Go_."

"You're not Mara, are you? I swear, if it's you, Alfie, I'll-"

"_Go_. Do...return..."

Jerome promptly hangs up, swearing under his breath. Now it's late, dark, and cold, and he's fairly certain Mara isn't coming. And why the heck does Alfie have Mara's phone?

"I...you...go."

The hair on the back of Jerome's neck pricks to attention when he hears the raspy whisper behind him. He slowly turns around and sees a shadowed outline of a woman stepping towards him.

Jerome's heart begins to race, because suddenly this seems like something out of a horror movie. Slowly, he steps backward, his fists curling up defensively.

"You're the person who has Mara's phone," he notes stiffly.

The shadow is closer now, and it is clear that the woman is hooded.

"You...go...return," comes the order again.

Jerome exhales shakily. "Look, whoever you are, leave me alone! A-and tell me what's going on with my girlfriend!" he adds.

"Go...return. Now...quickly..."

"Stop!" Jerome snaps. "Stop that! Who are you?!"

The hooded figure removes her hood, and there Jerome finds himself staring into two glowing red eyes. But that isn't what shocks him the most.

"Jaffray?" he whispers.

"Go...return..." That isn't her voice. Mara's mouth speaks the words, but her lips often tremble and she has to struggle to get the words out. In fact, she often loses a few of them along the way.

"Jaffray," repeats Jerome, and he dares a step closer. "What-"

"No." Mara's eyes flash brown, then back to red. "Go...return. I-" Her mouth opens in a gasp and she sucks in air before she begins to tremble violently. Jerome raises a tentative hand towards her, but she whips her head to look at him, her eyes growing a darker red.

The look she gives him is one of disgust. Of anger. Drops of sweat begin to dot her forehead as she stares at him, and she blinks her eyes rapidly.

"Mara." Jerome steps even closer. "Tell me what's going on."

She gasps out a laugh. "Stay," she gasps, and her body trembles even harder. "Stay...me...leave. I-" She whimpers a sound of hurt and squeezes her eyes shut tightly. "Stay."

"Wha-? Jaffray, one minute you tell me to leave and then stay?"

"No! I- yes. Stay...don't. Leave...don't."

Jerome reaches Mara, slowly stroking down the skin of her cheek. "Mara," he whispers. "I don't know what's going on, but I'm going to be here, okay? I'm right here. I'm-"

He doesn't get to finish, because Mara shoves him away. Before his eyes, she slowly begins to back away, raising a single hand towards him and abruptly closing her fist a second later.

Jerome's body is struck with convulsions. He staggers backward and falls to his knees, gasping for breath as his chest becomes constricted and the air sucked into his lungs becomes scarce.

"M-Mara! You-"

"Silence!" Mara's eyes glow more red with each passing second. "You...stay."

"I-I am. B-but whatever i-is going on-"

"_Stay_."

"F-fight it, Mara. I'm-"

"_Dead_. You're _dead_." Mara's hand drops to her side, and Jerome is greeted with a faceful of concrete. The sudden impact makes him wince; it's bad enough he isn't breathing well, but now his face is brusied on top of it all.

"Mara...this isn't you," he gasps out. "You're..._possessed_."

Mara laughs, and it's a cold, cruel laugh, not the one Jerome has grown to love. "Of course it isn't me," she hisses, and she steps over to him, even stopping to kick his side harshly.

Jerome groans; his breathing is slowed, and his body feels like it's on fire.

"Mara," he groans. "Please. I'm-"

"Dead," she reapeats. "Or as good as."

She clenches her fingers together, and just like that, Jerome falls into darkness.

* * *

**Deadline change!**

**The new date is October 1, 2014, because these things take time. I'm sorry if the last date seemed way too rushed for people, so if anyone still wants to join, just drop a review or send me a PM!**

**(Because, like I said, I really want to see some horror stories here in this archive and I want the other writers here to challenge themselves with this! Also, remember every entry I get I will follow and review every chapter to, no matter what, if that is some inspiration)**

**For each entry, put "for bs13's horror contest" in the summary. Thanks!**


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